“What? I can’t scout a good company like they can?”
“You are twisting what I am saying, Aidan.”
“Look, I am really happy things are going so great for you at work. Let’s not talk about my failures…”
“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?”
I want him to stop. Desperately. Aidan Whitmore’s problems always feel heavier than everyone else in the room. Sometimes I feel like if I were to hand deliver my heart and head, it wouldn’t be enough.
Aidan has derailed me from my question. All I wanted was one night where we ate a whole ice-cream cake together, devouring every last bite, where it didn’t matter how late we stayed up or how terrible our stomachs ached.
Just one more night like it used to be.
Chapter fourteen
To the Rescue
Signs are everywhere.
A friend canceling on a Friday night.
Turning on the radio at the perfect moment to win concert tickets.
Holden Strauss’s name appearing on my phone like a damn skywriter.
In the chaos of noises, I filter through the clashing sounds of EDM music and loud voices to make out his words when I answer his call.
“Nobody cares about me anymore.”
No hi. No hello. No how are you. We are headfirst into his drunken state. Every word of his collides into the next.
Holden is sipping his drink loudly and crowds of people are overshadowing his voice. I press a finger to my ear, leaning into the speaker.
“Hello?” I repeat.
“Charlotte, what’s going on?” Aidan snaps. The rush of heat hits my face as I turn to shush him.
“Are you okay?” I say into the phone, fully knowing the answer to my own question. Nobody goes from being totally fine a few hours ago to confessing that.
“I… wouldbeifyouwerehereeee.”
“Where are you?”
“At home…”
“Which house?”
Just like that, the call drops. A second later, I see his text with a pinned location.
“I got to go, Aidan. My client needs me.”
“At eleven thirty at night!?”
“Yes” I say flatly, taking one last look at him and his puppy-dog eyes. The same eyes that have always won me over in the majority of our arguments.
I linger for a moment before I give him a tight-lipped half smile and rush out the door, requesting another ride from Calabasas to Burbank.
My hand sticks out the car window as the driver makes their way to San Fernando Boulevard, where the neon signs mix together with the streetlamps.
